


The Best Intentions

by FancyFree2813



Series: Layers (originally named The Goofy Mountie Series [6]
Category: due South
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyFree2813/pseuds/FancyFree2813
Summary: Constable Turnbull attempts to bring two of his friends together, with the typical Turnbull trials and tribulations. This is a story of love and friendship as only Renfield Turnbull could interpret them.
Series: Layers (originally named The Goofy Mountie Series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954873
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	The Best Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> This is #6 in the Layers series. Something I should have mentioned when I started posting here - all of these stories were written and posted to the Red Suits You list over 20 years ago. There might be references to some things that seem a little old fashioned - like land line phones or lines at the bank. The reason I am posting them now is that the Layers series is building to two new novels I have just recently written. It is important that the ground work for these novels be laid prior to anyone reading them.

The Best Intentions  
By Shirley Russell

He stood in the darkened hallway of the Canadian Consulate, mentally ticking off all the preparations. His plan was unfolding nicely. It had required precision timing, but they had made a fatal mistake, they had underestimated him. They would not have believed it, but he was up to the challenge. He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Wouldn't they be surprised? Surprise, the whole plan hinged on the element of surprise. If they somehow found out before they got here, they would put a stop to it, and all would be for naught. But he knew when they landed, the call had been made, and he was certain they were on their way. They would find the building dark and empty, with the timer counting down. All the plans were in place, there was no way they could know until they were actually in the building. And then . . . he smiled a cunning smile.

______________________________________

A few minutes earlier, at Chicago O'Hare Airport:

Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser's flight had just arrived. They were returning from a policy conference, and their plane was late - very late, having sat on the runway, in the snow, in Toronto for what seemed to be hours. Both officers were tired and grouchy, and very hungry. The usually pleasant, relatively short flight thankfully offered no meal service. But being trapped in the cramped, cold, noisy plane for hours with only mustard flavored pretzels to eat and very little to drink, did a great deal to increase one's thirst, but very little to relieve one's hunger . . . or foul mood for that matter.

To make matters worse, fleeing down the jetway, Thatcher remembered she had given Turnbull the evening off. There hadn't seemed to be a need for him to hang around waiting for them, at least not at the time. But that meant he would not be there to pick them up in the Consular car. Damn, she hated taxis! 

The minute they were clear of the jetway, her pager began vibrating. "Damn, what now!" This was the perfect ending to a perfect day!

The tiny screen text message was impossible for her to see without her glasses, and rather than admit that she needed them more and more of late, Thatcher shoved the pager at Fraser. "What the hell does this damn thing say?"

Fraser frowned as he retrieved the pager from his chest, where it and her hand had imbedded themselves. "Sorry, Constable, I'm just tired, and hungry, and cold, and . . . grumpy."

"And I am Sneezy and Doc." Fraser turned away from her before she could see his sarcastic smile. It took her a full 30 seconds to realize Fraser had made a joke.

"Funny, Fraser. Very funny." If she hadn't been in such a foul mood, she would have really meant that. "Just tell me what the . . . tell me what it says."

Fraser frowned as he read the message on the tiny screen. "It says we need to get to the Consulate as soon as possible." Fraser increased his pace.

"What? Why? Fraser slow down and answer me!" She glanced longingly at Starbuck's and The Cheesecake Factory as they hurried by. She was so hungry, even McDonald's looked inviting.

"All the message says is ' . . . trouble at the Consulate'". Fraser also wished they could stop just for a moment to grab an apple or an orange. He didn't even consider McDonald's a food source.

They hurried as best they could through the crowded concourse, and out through the main terminal to the taxi stand. Much to Fraser's chagrin, Thatcher grabbed his arm and pulled him directly to the head of the line. She elbowed several angry travelers out of the way, claiming that there was a 'police emergency' downtown, and as police officers, they had to get there immediately. Their taxi sped off, leaving numerous irate Chicagoans in its wake.

"This is great, just great. I thought Turnbull could be trusted. I thought he had finally emerged from the fog. I thought . . . GOD, Fraser, I hope he's okay!"

Fraser didn't know what to think. Turnbull had finally really gotten a grip, but with Turnbull one just never knew. Both occupants of the backseat of the taxi were frantic with worry.

_____________________________________________

The taxi came to a sliding halt on the icy street in front of the Consulate. Neither Fraser nor Thatcher gave the driver the opportunity to complain about the pink bills that were thrown at him as payment, as the two RCMP officers were already struggling up the slippery walk. They both realized that there was definitely something amiss in the building, as Fraser slowly opened the front door. The entry lights, which were normally left on during all hours of darkness, were off, as well as the hallway lights. Thatcher pulled a small flashlight from her bag, but Fraser signaled her to leave it off feeling the cover of darkness to be to their advantage. They slid quietly along the east wall of the hallway, allowing time for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. 

They neither saw nor heard the man who had been timing their arrival slip silently out the back door of the kitchen.

As they made their way deeper into the darkened building, Thatcher noticed something that alarmed her. She grabbed Fraser's sleeve and pointed toward the floor. A very dim light barely illuminated the space between the hardwood floor and the bottom of her office door. She was sure that there was someone in there!

Both officers had just arrived at an international airport, and were therefore not carrying any kind of weapon, not the best of circumstances under which to confront an intruder. But Fraser wasn't so sure; something wasn't adding up here. Without hesitation he flung the door open wide . . . to a completely empty room.

Empty that is, except for the addition of a small, dimly lighted table in the far corner of the office. Fraser and Thatcher had only a split second to stare in confusion at the table, before a buzzer sounded from deeper inside the building.

"God! What was that?"

"It sounded like . . . " Fraser turned and made for the back of the Consulate, flipping on the hall lights as he went.

"Fraser! Wait! What on earth are you doing? There may be an intruder back there, and he may be armed!" Thatcher tried in vain to shout in a whisper at his back, and then muttered to herself, "that man listens to everything I say, and then does exactly what he wants. It would serve him right if he got shot!" 

The horror of what she had said sank in and then she was after him in a flash. She almost ran headlong into Fraser, who was smiling as he stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. "Fraser? What is going--"

"I thought I smelled something when we came in." 

As he walked to the oven, Thatcher realized she smelled it too. "I think if we inspect that small table in your office more closely . . . " He opened the oven. "Ah, yes . . . our Constable Turnbull seems to have been up to a little trickery."

___________________________________________________________

Renfield smiled to himself as he drove home from the Consulate. If his calculations were correct they should be sitting down to dinner, just . . . about . . . now. He had known for a long time that Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser belonged together, and had grown tired of waiting for them to realize it too. He had decided, right after returning from Vancouver, that they needed him to give them a little push - all right, a big shove - toward romance.

He'd been pretty lucky on the romantic front, so why not share his luck with the two people who had done so much for him? He'd get to Ray later, if he ever figured out who it was Ray needed!

He mentally reviewed his plan again. He was very proud of his subterfuge. It wasn't easy to put anything over on either of them, especially now that they held him in a little higher regard, and treated him as, well . . . almost . . . an equal. Having people think you were totally clueless did have its advantages sometimes!

Okay: he had left the entrée in the oven and the salad in the refrigerator. The table looked beautiful, if he did say so himself. He smiled again, the last time he had set a table like that he had made Kerri cry. He couldn't see Inspector Thatcher crying over - well, crying over much of any thing. The candles were ready, and the matches . . . oh, dear . . . did he remember to leave the matches on the table? Oh well, Constable Fraser would figure that one out.

The Champagne was chilling, the salad dressing was on the table . . . no, he thought, everything should be covered. He smiled slyly, he'd even put fresh flowers and candles in the Queen's bedroom, in case . . . well . . . Fraser would have to figure that one out too! He blushed at his own brazenness. 

Constable Turnbull was very pleased with himself as he carefully parked his car in the icy parking lot outside his building. The only thing he could not anticipate, or plan for, was the reaction of the two people for whom he had gone to so much trouble. If any thing went wrong . . . oh, dear . . . his next posting would probably be near the Arctic Circle! But nothing would go wrong, his two best friends belonged together, and after tonight they would know it too!  
__________________________________________________________

For a starving man, Fraser opened the oven to a marvelous sight. A small, deliciously golden browned prime rib of beef, complete with Yorkshire pudding, and surrounded by roasted new potatoes, parsnips, carrots, turnips and pearl onions, sat on a platter, already sliced and ready to serve. His mouth was already watering. 

"Fraser?" When he turned to face Thatcher she had the most curious look on her face, a look that made him slightly uneasy. "He left us a note." 

She read it to Fraser . . . 'For my friends, in only partial repayment for all the kindness you have shown me . . . Cst. R. Turnbull' and then 'there is a salad in the refrigerator'.

Fraser looked at Thatcher and smiled rather shyly. "It looks like we . . . we won't have to eat fast food after all." Fraser could still not interpret her look, but proceeded to carry the delicious looking main course to her office, as Thatcher followed him with the salad.

Closer inspection of the tiny table in her office revealed more about the talents of Constable Turnbull. Not only could the man cook a meal that smelled delightful, but he could also set quite a beautiful table. Thatcher had no idea where the table came from, but she recognized the damask linen immediately. It, along with the antique Doulton china and Waterford crystal, actually all the tableware, belonged to the Consulate. She had just never seen them displayed quite so attractively.  
Turnbull had included in his table decoration a small crystal vase which held two delicate red roses, and two carefully lettered place cards, one offering a place to 'Margaret' and one to 'Benton'.

Turnbull had succeeded in casting a spell over this room, the room where his superior officer had so often dressed him down for numerous violations of her interpretation of the rigid Mountie Code. 

As he lit the candles, Benton smiled at Margaret. "Since Turnbull has . . . has gone to . . . to so much trouble, I think it only appropriate . . . that we take . . . advantage of it, . . . don't you?" All of the reprimands, the Code violations, and the superior officer/junior officer regimens were temporarily forgotten as Fraser took her hand and kissed it lightly. He blushed as he pulled out her chair and smiled, his eyes dancing in the candlelight. "Care to have a seat . . . Margaret?"

Meg was so overwhelmed by what was happening around her that she sat down without a word. She did watch Fraser's eyes, however. The candlelight made them look just like the Caribbean waters she had seen on her last cruise. She could not have looked away if she had wanted to, she loved his eyes so much!

He smiled as he watched her. He could not remember Insp . . . Meg ever being this quiet. Just as she could not look away from him, he was transfixed by the candlelit changes in her eyes. They reminded him of kaleidoscopes of browns, golds and hazels, soft and warm and inviting. He was in awe of her exquisite eyes.

The pangs of hunger brought Fraser temporarily out from under the spell woven by Turnbull, and he reluctantly turned away from her. But only long enough to take her plate to serve her some of the extraordinary food. As he sat her plate back down, he could no longer restrain himself. He took her hand and stared deeply into her eyes once more. He had to say these things before he lost what nerve the spell had conjured up, before the mood was broken.

"Meg . . . I know you've said to forget that anything has ever happened between us . . ." He cleared his throat as his voice threatened to leave him, " . . . but I have not been able to do that. The train . . . our . . . 'contact' . . . meant something very special to me . . . I've tried to respect your wishes, but I just can't forget how . . . how we . . . how I . . . what I felt. I've never been any good at expressing my feelings . . . but being near you . . . every day . . . I . . . I . . . don't want to go on as if . . . as if it never happened. I hope that . . . you might . . . might return at least some . . . some . . . of the feelings, some of the . . . depth of . . . " Fraser detested being inarticulate, but here he was again, his fear of rejection not allowing the thousand words in his heart to find a voice. He could not go on, all he could do was pray that she understood. Pray that she understood how deeply he was just now realizing he felt for her. His azure eyes softened to the palest of hopeful blue.

Meg stared into his hopeful eyes, seeing the heart of the man laid bare before her. She was only vaguely aware that he was ever so gently holding her hand. She found herself drowning in the sea of his eyes. 

But just as suddenly as she had slipped under the 'Turnbull Spell', she felt she actually was drowning, and she had to save herself! Save herself at all cost! She wrenched her hand away from him and stood straight up, overturning her chair in the process. "No!" 

Although her voice was not unnecessarily loud, it echoed through the halls of the quite Consulate as if it were canon fire. The startled Fraser also jumped from his chair.

"I cannot allow you to do this!" A terrified look of resolve replaced the candlelit kaleidoscope in her eyes. If she had snatched a knife from the table and thrust it into his heart, Meg could not have elicited a more genuine look of anguish from Fraser.

Inspector Thatcher grabbed her coat and in an instant she was gone. Margaret . . . well . . . Margaret had never really been there. 

___________________________________________________________

Fraser stared after his Superior Office with a face completely devoid of expression. The depth of emotion he had revealed to her, the caring . . . and the pain, had been replaced with . . . nothing. The carefully constructed mask of protection he had worn for years had once again settled over his eyes, giving no indication as to what went on behind it. Unlike Margaret, Benton had been seduced by the enchantment of this room, for a brief time, at least. He pulled himself up to his full height. It would not happen again. Now Constable Fraser, RCMP, had replaced Benton once more . . . for better or worse.

He smiled bitterly as he looked down at the unappetizing food spread out on the table. Where there had once been a mouth watering prime rib, with all the trimmings, now there was just charred meat, greasy bread and soggy vegetables. All that remained of the dancing candlelight were formless lumps of melted wax, and the dim light from her reading lamp made all the table dressings look drab and dingy.

Fraser allowed the Mountie mask to slip one last time as he quietly picked up the crystal vase with the two fragile red roses and hurled it at the fireplace. The once sparkling, fragile crystal shattered into thousands of tiny shards, lying flat and dead on the carpet. Rather like what Inspector Thatcher had done to his heart. 

Now the vase too was like all the rest of the 'spell' . . . garbage.

___________________________________________________________

As he arrived for work Monday morning, Renfield was so excited he looked as though he might pop. He was thrilled to see Inspector Thatcher's car in the parking lot. He allowed himself to wonder if maybe she arrived early to spend a few extra moments with Fraser . . . or maybe . . . she never left . . . Oh, dear. He blushed as he chuckled to himself. He was so very proud of himself as he opened the front door.

The Inspector's office door was closed, so he hurried on down the hall to Fraser's office, hoping for at least a small smile of acknowledgement for his efforts. But Fraser's door was also closed. Hmm, well that was not so unusual, he was sure they would thank him soon.

By noon neither Inspector Thatcher nor Constable Fraser had emerged from their offices. He knew they were there, they had both answered calls that he had transferred to them. He was very perplexed. Were they avoiding each other during the workday? Ah . . . that was probably it; they had made an agreement not to flaunt their newfound relationship during business hours. Well, he could certainly understand that. He and Kerri had determined to do exactly the same. They'd failed of course, but they at least they had made the determination!

His mind wandered slightly as he wondered about their reaction to his lovingly prepared food. He sincerely hoped they had enjoyed it. He was curious as to who had cleaned up the kitchen so spotlessly. He had trouble imagining either one of them wearing an apron!

By mid-afternoon they still had not emerged from their offices and Turnbull was becoming slightly apprehensive. He just couldn't understand why one or the other of them hadn't thought to say anything to him. He was also curious to see if the Queen's bedroom had been . . . uh . . . occupied. When he could no longer control the urge, he sneaked up the stairs.

His apprehension turned to open distress at what he saw. Wilted roses lay on the pillows, exactly where he had placed them when they were still fresh. An unimaginable thought was beginning to take shape in his mind. Had his plan failed? Oh, dear! And now his friends were upset. Oh, dear!  
Before he could stop himself he hurried down the stairs, up to Constable Fraser's door, and knocked rapidly.

"Yes?" Fraser's reply was short and uncharacteristically curt.

"Sir? It's me . . . Turnbull--"

"What is it Turnbull?"

"May I . . . may I have a moment of your time, Sir?"

For Turnbull, Fraser's reply was painfully slow in coming. "Come in."

He was momentarily relieved. Constable Fraser looked just the same as always, like the Mountie every recruit wished to emulate. Taking a closer look, however, he realized Fraser's eyes seemed cold . . . cold and . . . empty.

Turnbull continued to stare at him, as Fraser's patience wore out. "What is it Constable? I have work to do."

"I was . . . ah . . . just . . . wondering . . . ah . . . about . . . ah . . . the . . . the arrangements . . . that is . . . I . . . ah . . . "

"The dinner was a nice gesture, Constable, unfortunately Inspector Thatcher was not . . . hungry. Is that all?" There was no trace of gratitude in his voice.

"Yes, Sir. I'm . . . sorry . . . that is, I'm sorry . . . to have interrupted." He backed out of Fraser's office and quietly closed the door behind him.

Fraser stared at the door as it closed. He had meant well, he'd tried his best to do something nice for them. It wasn't Turnbull's fault that Fraser was now lonelier than he had ever been in his life. 

The man left alone in his office hung his head and sighed.

___________________________________________________________

Inspector Thatcher could not remember a time when she had had as much paperwork as this week. Even arriving early, working through lunch, and leaving the office in the dead of night did not begin to give her the time necessary to completely plough through the mountains of paper on her desk. It was endless!

It seemed the more she worked, the more work there was to do. Once the reports where written, or read, they needed to be transmitted, or filed. Once she had digested all the earthshaking information in the myriad of inter-agency memos, they also needed to be categorized and filed. Since it was nearing Christmas she was receiving volumes of e-mail greetings that needed careful attention. The appropriate response to electronic Christmas messages had become an art form unto itself.

And, of course, there were the phone calls. It seemed that everyone on the planet felt the compelling need to call the Canadian Consulate this week. And not only were they compelled to call, they would also speak to no one other than the Chief Liaison Officer. How could it possibly matter to whom they spoke, if all they wanted to ask was 'What the hell is curling?' They could go to the library, or get on the Internet, or if all else failed, they could ask Constable Turnbull, for God's sake. That was a question even he could answer.

Ah, but there in lay the problem. Although she would have never admitted it to any one, not the least of all herself, most all of the extra work she had created this week were tasks normally completed by Turnbull or Fraser. The filing, the phone calls, the categorizing and responding, most all of those were tasks she delegated to them.

But since she had forced herself to ignore the existence of both men, all the menial labor fell to her. She would never have admitted it, though. She convinced herself that this was just a busy workweek, and ignored all thought of . . . anyone else.

To maintain her sanity, she had to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened in this room and force herself to believe that for the last few days she had occupied the building known as the Canadian Consulate alone. She kept her mind busy with her work and with the effort it took to shield herself from the thought of Benton Fraser, just down the hall.

___________________________________________________________

The anxiety in the office was almost unbearable. And even though Turnbull never actually saw the Inspector and rarely saw Fraser, the tension was so thick he could almost see a cloud of it hanging in the air. Even Diefenbaker had taken up residence under Turnbull's desk, refusing to come out, except to eat of course. Turnbull had become so lonely that he had taken up talking to his furry companion on a regular basis. He was saddened that he didn't understand Dief as well as Fraser, because he felt sure the wolf could offer him some much-needed insight into the problem at hand.

By the end of the week, Turnbull still had not even caught a glimpse of Inspector Thatcher. No matter how early he arrived, or how late he left, she was always there. By the time he arrived home on Friday, he had worried himself to a frazzle. He had not even considered being concerned for himself; he was just worried that his friends were hurting, and it was his fault.

He had thought about talking to Ray, but was sure Ray would just kick him in the head for being so stupid. So now he was immensely relieved that Kerri would be arriving this evening. By this time he was so embarrassed by what he had done he hesitated to tell her, but he really needed her advice. As fate and the weather would have it, however, Kerri's plane was delayed in Salt Lake City.

Renfield fretted himself to sleep somewhere around 2 a.m. He was troubled that Kerri's flight had still not arrived and still very worried about Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser. He was responsible for what was happening at the Consulate and his guilt was getting the better of him.  
He fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming that all of his friends hated each other, and him.

___________________________________________________________

Kerri finally got in at about 3:30 and just like her friends, who had had a delayed flight the previous week, she was tired, thirsty, cold, and very hungry. She was almost always upgraded to first class, so the food was usually very good, but when the meal was finally served around 1:00 a.m., she just couldn't face it. Bloody-Marys with extra olives would have to hold her until Renny could take over, holding her that is.

She unlocked the door of the apartment at 4:45 a.m., unable to decide what to do. Should she collapse in a heap of luggage and coat, right in the middle of the floor and sleep for a year; actually get undressed and go to bed with her favorite snuggly Renny; or fix something to eat? She stood in the center of the living room, holding her coat and suitcase handle for several moments before she finally decided that if she didn't get something, anything, to eat, she wouldn't be able to sleep. She dropped everything where she stood and went in search of sustenance. 

She opened the refrigerator door and silently thanked God for a man who loved to cook. It was stocked with wonderful things to choose from. In the end she settled for something that even she was good at: bacon and eggs.

The aroma of frying bacon dragged a reluctant Renfield, still dazed with sleep, into the kitchen. Kerri caught sight of her sleepy Renny out of the corner of her eye. She didn't want to leave the eggs to burn, so she whispered over her shoulder. "I'm sorry I woke you. Why don't you go back to sleep? You look beat!" 

Renny rubbed his eyes like a sleepy child on Christmas morning, reluctant to awaken, but delighted with what he saw. He padded up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Kerri nestled back against his bare chest, still warm and soft with sleep, as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. One of the many advantages of loving a man as large as Renny was that when he put his arms around her, he could almost envelop her entire body with his warmth.

Renny whispered softly into her hair, "What time is it? When did you get here?"

"It's about 5:00 a.m., and I just got here a few minutes ago. I sat at the--" Kerri tried in vain to stifle a deep, fully body yawn, "at that stupid airport for - ouch!"

Kerri jumped in Renny's arms, startling the almost dozing man fully awake. "Let me see that . . . bacon grease?" He pulled her hand from her mouth and kissed it tenderly. "Why don't you sit down, and let me finish this."

"I thought you'd never ask." Kerri collapsed in a chair at the small kitchen table.

"I'm so glad you're finally here. There's something I really need to talk to you about. I've done--" 

Renfield turned around to find Kerri, with her head resting against the wall, sound asleep. He smiled at the comfortable sight of the woman he loved sleeping in his kitchen. Then he frowned.  
He hadn't noticed before, but she had deep, dark circles under her eyes. He knew, just as sure as he stood there, that she was wearing herself out, trying to fit trips to Chicago into her hectic schedule. One more thing to be angry at himself for . . .

___________________________________________________________

When Kerri awoke she found herself in bed. She couldn't remember . . . how . . . she . . . And she was wearing one of Renny's flannel shirts . . . She felt fairly refreshed, but was confused that it was still dark outside. She must not have slept very long.

She stumbled out to the living room to find Renny frowning as he stared out the window. When he saw her he chuckled at the sight of the tousled Kerri wearing his oldest red flannel shirt. "Hello, sleepy head! You could fit about three of you in that shirt!" Kerri padded across the room and snuggled into his lap. "Feeling a little better?" He was relieved to see the dark circles had faded dramatically.

"Mmmm, yeah. What time is it? It's still dark outside--"

"It's about 7:30 . . . p.m.--"

Her eyes flew open wide. "I slept 14 hours? Renny, why didn't you wake me? We missed the whole day!" She had never slept that many hours in a row, ever!

"You were exhausted," he whispered as he drew her close. "Besides, I didn't miss anything, I came in and sat with you for quite awhile while you slept." He grinned his goofy Renny grin as he kissed her on the tip of her nose.

"That's not fair! I wanted to spend time with you - awake!" Kerri had never known, until this very moment, that it was physically impossible to pout and yawn at the same time.

Renfield turned very serious. "Kerri, you were obviously very tired, and I just couldn't stand to see you like that. I worry about you getting sick, you're pushing yourself awfully hard."

Kerri was touched by his concern. It actually gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling to have someone care that much about her wellbeing. She snuggled in more closely. "I'm sorry you were worried, Renny. I'm feeling much better, now."

"You must be starving. When's the last time you ate anything?"

Kerri smiled rather sheepishly. "I had . . . several green olives . . . about 1:00 this morning..." She thought it best not to mention the bloody Marys that had accompanied the olives.

Without another word Renny stood up, with her in his arms - she loved it when he did that - and carried her to the kitchen. "I'm going to make you some tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. You need something light, since you haven't eaten in so long." 

Her father used to make that for her when she was a young girl, and used to shake his finger at her just like Renny was doing now. The memory caused Kerri to giggle.

She sat at the table as Renny busied himself around the kitchen. As she watched him she began to realize that there was something bothering him, something more than just worry over her.

She frowned at his back. "Okay, Mister Mountie, spill the beans."

"Excuse me?"

"There's something bothering you. What is it?"

Renfield might have had his back to her, but his body language told her immediately that what ever was wrong was serious. She had learned very early in their relationship that things that bothered Renny fell into two categories, the rather silly, and the deadly serious. There was no halfway with Constable Turnbull. She went behind him and embraced him just as he had her very early this morning. She whispered into his back, "What ever it is we can work it out. What's wrong?"

He sighed heavily and turned to his beloved Kerri. He was so afraid she would be angry, very angry, for what he had done to their friends. But he also very much needed her advice, and her comfort. He slowly took her food to the table and motioned her to sit down.

"Renny, you are really scaring me here. What's happened?"

"I've . . . I've done a very foolish thing, and though unintentional, I have succeeded in deeply hurting Constable Fraser and probably Inspector Thatcher. All though I haven't seen her all week, so I'm not--"

Kerri frowned at him. That what he had done was unintentional went without saying, the man would never hurt a friend. "What did you do--"

"I just wanted them to be happy, just as you and I are . . . so I . . . I lured them to the Consulate last Friday night under the pretext of there being an emergency. I had prepared a . . . a romantic, candlelight dinner--"

"Oh, Renny, no! You didn't?" Kerri succeeded admirably at suppressing a broad smile. She could just see Meg and Benton dining in one of Renny's fairytale settings. But he had said he had hurt them.

Renfield nodded. "It apparently was a disaster. Constable Fraser looks as if he hasn't a friend left in the world and Inspector Thatcher has stayed locked in her office all week. I'm afraid Diefenbaker and I have been ostracized."

"Oh, dear." Kerri could tell he was terribly upset by what he had done, but that was her Renny, he could try harder and fail more miserably than anyone she knew. 

"I didn't mean for anyone to be hurt. I just wanted them to be as happy as we are. They belong together . . . I just wanted to show them that. I didn't think . . . "

Kerri knew she needed to handle this very carefully. Renny had come a very, very long way, over an unimaginably rough road and she didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his self-esteem. It looked to her as if he were doing an extremely good job of that on his own. 

"I think what you did was very sweet. Maybe a little misguided, but incredibly thoughtful. It's just too bad it didn't work out, because I agree with you, Benton and Meg belong together."

Renfield was immensely relieved that Kerri wasn't upset with at him. "Thank you for not being angry with me."

"Renny, why in heaven's name would I be angry with you? You didn't do--"

"You put up with so much from me. I know it's been hard on you, all the dumb things I've done--"

Now she was angry. She jumped up and began to pace the tiny kitchen. "Renfield Turnbull, you had better not mean what you just said! Of all the . . . I cannot believe . . . how could you possibly think . . . " She couldn't even get the words out, she was so annoyed! 

She took two deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. Then she took another one. When she had regained her composure she looked at his puppy-dog face. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, but you have to understand something here: I love you. Just like the minister says, 'for better or worse'. I'll admit we've had some 'worse', but that has been far outweighed by the 'better'. If you don't believe that, well . . . well . . . I just don't know . . . " she sputtered.

Renfield took her in his arms very tenderly. "Oh, Kerri, I do know you love me. It's just sometimes I can't understand why."

Kerri smiled as she relaxed against his chest. "Moments like this don't hurt!"

"What should I do about Constable Fraser and Inspector Thatcher? I feel so badly that they are hurting, but I just don't know what to do."

Kerri sat back down and thought for several moments while she munched on her sandwich. The road to love for Renny and her had been pretty bumpy, but it was nothing compared to the minefield Benton and Meg would have to navigate if they were to ever risk it. "I think the best thing to do is nothing. Well, let them know that you're sorry for interfering, but then just back off. They're adults and they're just going to have to work it out." 

Kerri finished eating and felt 100% better . . . in fact . . . she felt so much better that she began to think that now might be a terrific time to begin making up for last night, and the time she had missed with Renny. She smiled as she climbed into his lap again and kissed him deeply. She whispered into his lips, "They'll be okay. They just need some time." 

She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and ran her hand teasingly over his bare chest. "You did an incredibly sweet thing for them, now how about focusing some of that attention on me? Instead of three of me, why don't we see if we can get one of me and one Mountie into this old flannel shirt of yours?"

Renfield immediately forgot all about any Mountie other than himself.

___________________________________________________________

One thing that Kerri never seemed to have enough of was paperback books. She'd tried working on her laptop, watching the movie, talking with other passengers, or sleeping, but it seemed about the only activity that she could do consistently while flying was read. And just now her supply of paperback novels was running dangerously low.

The local bookshop was within walking distance of the apartment and housed a small tearoom. A perfect place to go on a cold winter morning after Renny had left for work. Kerri hated to walk in the Chicago heat and humidity, and was grateful that Renny disliked the heat as much as she did, but they both loved to walk in the cold weather. And this particular winter day it was very cold, so Kerri bundled up and struck out in search of several trashy novels.

As she gingerly approached the bookshop, on a sidewalk wet with slushy snow and ice, a familiar car pulled up in front and a very familiar woman, also bundled against the cold, hurried inside. Oh, dear. What were the chances that in the entire city of Chicago, she and Meg Thatcher would choose the exact same time and the exact same shop, to look for books? Kerri smiled. At least she was sure Meg wasn't after the exact same type of book! Kerri couldn't imagine Meg Thatcher reading a romance novel. But then, just how well did she know Meg?

As she stood, slightly sheltered from the wind, in the doorway of the dry cleaners, Kerri thought about what she knew of Meg Thatcher. She was very aware that Meg genuinely cared for Renny. She remembered how pleased Meg was when Kerri had told her she was in love with Renfield. She smiled at the memory of Meg calling Renny 'her Constable', and of telling her she felt he needed to be protected from further pain. Maybe Meg was more of a romantic than any one gave her credit for? Maybe she would read romance novels, after all.

Standing there, scrunched way down inside her coat, Kerri made a decision. She had suggested that Renny not interfere any more, and she'd meant it. She hesitated to interfere too, but they were so right for each other, so well suited. Darn. She'd been around Renny too much! His plan had backfired, and now she was considering interfering too!

She reluctantly decided to implement her 'plan', but only if fate was on her side. She'd go into the bookshop and wander around, but let Meg approach her. If Meg didn't see her, or more importantly, didn't want to talk to her then so be it, it just wasn't in the grand scheme of things. If, however, Meg did approach her, well . . . 

Kerri carefully picked her way across the icy street. It certainly wouldn't do to break her neck now, when she had so much to live for! Her very own 'goofy' Mountie waiting for her whenever she came to Chicago! God, she loved this place!

The bookshop was warm and cozy and smelled of cinnamon and vanilla as she walked past the tearoom. The old hardwood floor creaked its objection as she slowly made her way through the slightly dusty shelves of travel books, with their colorful covers of exotic places. She passed the self-help books with the sometimes stern, sometimes invitingly pleasant cover pictures of their authors. She skirted the gardening aisle, glancing wistfully at the rows of spring flowers that were, for now at least, just vague memories of a spring many months past. She moved quickly through the cooking section, smiling to herself . . . this section was for Renny, not her. Then again . . . maybe she was the one who needed help from a book! She smiled to herself.

She moved much more slowly through the wonderful assortment of musty used books, some tattered and worn from frequent reading, some with their spines broken with age. One particular volume, somehow separated from its comrades, caught her eye, Volume IV, Charles Dickens 'A Christmas Carol'. She'd never been quite sure why, but Renny had a special affinity for this Dickens story. She ran her fingers over the old leather and brought the book to her nose. It smelled of pipe tobacco and dust. There was no copyright date in this British edition, indicating to Kerri that it must be very old. Not caring about the price, she knew she must have it for Renny for Christmas. She tucked her wonderful prize under her arm and moved on.

She cast a wistful glance at the stairs that lead to the private living quarters on the second floor. If she had chosen a different life path, one that had not involved the RCMP, Kerri would have owned a shop exactly like this one. She had loved books all her life; in fact all things literary intrigued her. And this place was so . . . comfortable. She had always envisioned herself working in such a place, with a small apartment upstairs, and a Labrador Retriever or Husky curled up on a hooked rug in front of the fireplace, or maybe even a wolf dog like Diefenbaker. And now she could even add Renny to the picture, curled up with . . . well curled up. 

She could run the shop and Renny could run the tearoom. He could offer different types of exotic coffees and teas, simple sandwiches and steaming hot soup for cold Christmas shoppers. Kerri sighed at the image. Then she would never have to see the inside of another airport, taxi or hotel room again . . . 

She finally spotted Meg, in the mystery section. Now that made sense! She could see Meg as a mystery buff, with puzzles to piece together and plot threads to untangle. Meg seemed to Kerri to be a problem solver type of person. She probably knew 'who dun it' by the second chapter!

Kerri lingered in the drama section alternately praying that Meg would become aware of her presence, and that she would remain unnoticed. She just had become engrossed in the liner notes of John Grisham's The Testament when she heard her name.

"Hello, Kerri. How are you?" Meg smiled slightly, causing Kerri to breathe a sigh of relief. It would never do for Meg to think that their chance meeting was contrived. Even if it was, kind of.  
Kerri noticed that Meg looked a little stressed, and she was pretty sure she knew why. 

"It's so good to see you, Meg. I'm just great." She looked at the books Meg had selected and smiled. "Mountie reading for Mounties?" Meg was carrying two novels; The Judas Kiss and Abort...Retry...Murder. "The bad Mountie and the good Mounties?"

Meg smiled as she looked down at the books. "I like to remind myself that the good do outnumber the bad. I'm very anxious to read this one by J March. I hear it's very good." As Meg looked at the other woman, she thought Kerri looked awfully tired. But since she and Turnbull only saw each other on occasional weekends, maybe this last weekend they had spent . . . NO! She was not going to go there!

"Do you read John Grisham?' Meg nodded at the novel Kerri was holding. "I read The Runaway Jury but haven't read any others."

"I read anything I can get my hands on. It's the absolute best way to pass the time on a plane. But I only read paperbacks, hardcover books weigh too much. Especially when you've got a laptop, briefcase and assorted other junk. I've trimmed it down to the bare essentials, but it's still a lot of stuff to carry on a plane." Kerri smiled as she realized she was babbling. "So, to answer your question, I haven't read this one yet. And I'd better put it down right now, before I get hooked and have to buy it!" 

The silence between them started to become uncomfortable as Kerri searched for a way to suggest they have a cup of tea. She was very surprised, and greatly relieved, when Meg suggested exactly that.

"Have you got time for a cup of tea? I haven't had the chance to talk to you since you all returned from Vancouver." If she had admitted it to herself, Meg would have realized that she was very curious about all that had happened when Fraser, Vecchio and Kerri ran to Vancouver after Turnbull. Fraser, in his usual Fraser manner, had told her only the barest of details.

Meg and Kerri seated themselves at a small table, in the very quiet tearoom. Like the rest of the bookshop, this room was invitingly warm and cozy. Definitely a woman's domain, though, what with the lace curtains, wallpaper, and potted plants. They must have been baking apples, because the aroma of apples and cinnamon was almost overpowering. This place reminded Meg so much of her grandmother's kitchen

"Would you ladies like a menu, or--"

"Are you baking apples? It smells wonderful in here! It reminds me of my grandmother's house."

"Yep, that's exactly what you smell. Won't be ready for an hour or so though, sorry." The waitress smiled at her small idea. "Can offer ya some hot apple cider instead."

Meg and Kerri smiled at each other. What a wonderful idea! Apple cider was exactly what this cold weather, and this cozy place called for.

As the waitress went to fetch the cider Kerri looked around her and sighed. "I've always wanted to own a place just like this. Books and food, what more could any woman ask for?" Kerri chuckled slightly.

"Maybe someone to share it with?" Kerri wasn't sure who was more shocked, Meg for saying the words or herself at hearing them. "I'm sorry, I have no idea where that came from." Meg tried to smile, but it was a vain attempt.

"I think I could see a tall, handsome, sandy haired man in a apron behind that counter, don't you?"

"I'll go for the apron part." Meg and Kerri smiled at the thought of Renfield in an apron, but each for their own special reasons. "He often wears one around the Consulate when he's cleaning. Does that man clean that much at home?"

"Yes!" As the waitress brought their cider they both laughed. "And he cooks too. All in all a pretty good catch, if I do say so myself."

It was obvious that Kerri was very proud of Turnbull, although Meg often had to ask herself why. "I haven't seen much of him . . . that is, I've been busy this week, and I--" 

"Meg, he told me about what happened. He was out of line and he knows it. He just gets . . . exuberant sometimes and doesn't stop to think. He's so grateful to you and Benton for all the support you've given him in the last year--"

"It's been a rough year for him. He--"

"He just wanted to thank you both. He was well intentioned . . . just misguided." Kerri stopped short. "God, I sound like his mother, making excuses for him! I'm sorry!"

Meg smiled broadly at her. "Have you noticed that everyone seems to want to protect him? After we found out about the . . . about his . . . past, everyone just sort of jumped on the Turnbull bandwagon." She thought about the exasperating, endearing man. "I get so conflicted around him, sometimes I want to hug him and other times I want to shake him!"

"You too?" Kerri smiled as she sipped the piping hot cider. "I must admit I usually opt for the former." Both women laughed again.

"I'm so glad for both of you. It's hard to find someone you can really care about . . . " 

Once again Meg had brought up the subject of Kerri's . . . interference. This time she wasn't about to let it go. "Renfield isn't the only one to notice, Meg. It's obvious to a lot of people that there is something special between you and Benton, or are we just victims of wishful thinking?"

When Meg didn't respond, Kerri began to think her plan had failed too. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy. Forget I asked."

Meg sighed deeply and closed her eyes. She hadn't really wanted to admit this, not even to herself. But she felt a kind of kinship with Kerri and found her very easy to talk to. "No, I guess it's only fair. I certainly have asked you enough about Renfield. It's just, well . . . hard for me to admit." She hesitated just briefly and then jumped right in. "From the first time I laid eyes on Fraser, I was . . . was . . . god, I hate the word, but I was scared. It wasn't that he is so damned attractive, although that didn't hurt." She smiled at Kerri as if she were revealing some deep secret about Fraser that no one else had ever noticed. "It just . . . well . . . I guess I've always played it safe in the romance department. I just limited my . . . relationships . . . to casual acquaintances and a few platonic dates. Well . . . maybe, not all . . . platonic," She smiled knowingly at Kerri, "but no entanglements. You know? And certainly no . . . entanglements . . . with anyone I worked with. Relationships I could control. Fraser was the first man . . . the first one I felt I could . . . that he could . . . I don't know." She couldn't seem to come up with the words.

"The first man that might have caused you to lose that control? A man you could genuinely care for?" Meg was startled that Kerri had come so close to the heart of the matter. "But why would that scare you?"

"I've devoted my entire adult life to my career, Kerri. I've got so much invested in my work. I just can't do anything to jeopardize that . . . " Her words trailed off into unspoken thoughts. 

"I don't understand. You think an 'entanglement' with Benton would jeopardize your career?"

"I . . . don't know. All I know is, I'm afraid to find out." She looked at Kerri and smiled. "I can certainly think of worse things than becoming romantically involved with Benton Fraser," she sighed before continuing, "and that's the problem. He's the first man I ever felt I could lose myself to."

"Losing yourself is not the same as losing control. And losing control, occasionally, is not necessarily a bad thing, Meg." Kerri loved to lose control with Renny. Of course there was an appropriate time and place . . . well . . . "Why do you think that caring for a man would cause you to lose yourself? Do you think Benton would ask you to give up your career for him?"

"I . . . I don't know. What I do know is that I watched my mother give up her dreams for my father, and I know she lived to regretted it. All she ever wanted was be an actress." She sat up straight in her chair and prepared to end their impromptu meeting.

"Didn't she love her husband, and her family--"

"Of course, she loved us all very much--"

"Maybe she didn't sacrifice as much as you think." Kerri thought of her own mother, and sighed. 

"Meg there's no way you can compare what happened between your mother and father with what could possibly happen between you and Benton. Your mother had dreams, but you already have an actual career. Can I say just one more thing?" Kerri smiled at her friend, and took Meg's hand. "I don't think anyone ever plans to fall in love. In a million years I never expected to find the man of my dreams at the Canadian Consulate in Chicago." Kerri laughed at the look on Meg's face. "I know most everyone thought he was pretty . . . goofy . . . and I guess he was." Her smile broadened. "That's what first attracted me to him! I've spent most of my adult life building my career too, and I love what I do. Renfield would never ask me to give it up. But, I love Renfield too, and I would give up my career in a minute, rather than lose him . . . and that is my choice, not his. The point of all this is--" Kerri sat back in her chair. "The point is that there doesn't have to be a choice. I doubt that Benton would ever ask you to choose. Don't try to control caring for someone, Meg. Few people can actually control falling in love anyway, it just kind of . . . happens." 

"Did you have any control over falling in love with Renfield?" Meg had wanted to ask Kerri that, or a version of it, ever since she had met her.

"You know, I don't know. It kind of sneaked up on me . . . unlike Renny . . . ah, Renfield, who couldn't sneak up on anyone if his life depended on it!" Both women laughed, forgetting that Constable Turnbull might just be more adept at subterfuge than almost everyone gave him credit for. 

Meg still wasn't going to be put off. "If you could have chosen, would you have chosen him?"

"Once again, I have to say I don't know. I've had a lot of men show interest in me, but I found out at a very young age that the interest was mostly . . . well . . . superficial. I'm sure it's been the same for you. A whole lot of men with a whole lot of hidden agendas." Meg sighed in unspoken agreement. "I got to the point where I didn't trust the attentions of any man. Then I met Renfield. I knew almost immediately that he was different." Once again the look on Meg's face made Kerri laugh. "Okay, okay, he's definitely different." Kerri sighed as her mood turned serious. "The one thing I do know is that I thank God every day to have found someone as sweet and sincere as he is. He has the biggest heart of any person I've ever known."

Kerri took a deep breath, "I think he and Benton have a lot in common." The incredulous look from Meg caused Kerri to hurry on. "Okay, maybe not career wise, but as men they have both suffered devastating losses that have caused them to need to shield themselves from additional pain. It took a long time, but Renfield has overcome that. But I'm not so sure about . . . "

Meg didn't hear any more of what Kerri said. All she could think of, all she could see in her mind was the terrible look of hurt on Fraser's face the other Friday night. He had invited her into his heart, and instead, she had kicked him in the stomach. God, he had allowed himself to be vulnerable to her and she had hurt him.

"Meg, did I say something wrong?" Kerri wasn't sure exactly what she had said to cause Meg's strained look but she could tell Meg was thinking about Benton.

"He . . . wanted me to share . . . share that wonderful meal . . . I have never seen a man with such a look of . . . pain. I have seen Fraser with all manner of physical injuries, but I have never . . . ever seen him look like that. And I did that to him. He opened up to me, and I slammed the door right in his face . . . and that's twice." Meg looked as if she were close to tears.

"Twice?"

"There was a time . . . on a train . . . but I told him it could never happen again." Meg sighed at the memory. "I was so caught up in my fear of involvement, I never gave his feelings a second thought . . . After he kissed me, I--" Meg looked at Kerri in shock. She had never shared the train incident with anyone. No one else knew, just Sgt. Frobisher, and he would never, he'd better not ever, tell a soul.

Kerri half-smiled at her. "Your secret's safe with me, Meg. But it sounds like you need to decide which is more important, your fear of losing control, or Benton Fraser. He's not a man to take feelings for a woman lightly, and as long as he looks the way he does, eventually he will attract someone to whom he is equally attracted. You have to decided if there could be a future for the two of you, and then do something about it." Kerri pursed her lips. "I'm sorry Meg, I didn't mean to turn so heavy on you here. I guess I'm a little like Renfield, too, I want everyone to be as happy as we are." She paused to redirect her thoughts. "I just forget sometimes that it is possible for a woman to be happy, very happy, without a man in her life."

Meg glanced at her watch and was shocked to see that they had lingered over their cider for more than an hour. "Oh, no! I've got a telecon with Ottawa in 20 minutes. I've got to run." She hurriedly gathered up her things and turned to leave. "I'm really glad we ran into each other, Kerri. Most of my friends are in Toronto, and I've missed the 'girl talk'. You've given me a lot to think about." 

Meg smiled broadly and whispered to Kerri. "Don't you dare tell him, but Turnbull is not on my death list anymore! Bye." Meg tossed some pink money on the front counter and was out the door in a rush.

Kerri picked at a worn spot on the wooden table for a few moments, absentmindedly hoping she had said and done the right thing. Benton and Meg seemed so perfect for each other, but she had to wonder if Meg would ever think so.

___________________________________________________________

Meg was so lost thought she hardly noticed the drive back to the Consulate. Her chance meeting with Kerri Howard had left her with many things to ponder in her heart. She had decided, even prior to getting into her car, that for the first time in a very long time, she was going to go with her heart, rather than her head.

With very few exceptions she had made all major decisions in her life using her head. On the surface that was a very good thing, as she had risen rapidly through the ranks of the RCMP using her head. She had maintained a successful posting in Chicago using her head. Her life was what she had made it - using her head.

She rarely let the fact that she was alone and at times lonely enter her mind. When the occasional pang of loneliness twisted at her heart, she dismissed it as totally unimportant. That is, until her unfortunate 'almost' dinner with Fraser. Now she had to admit to herself that Fraser could actually mean something to her. She reluctantly allowed herself to remember . . . the train . . . 

By the time she walked up the front walk of the Consulate Meg had decided two things: First, she would talk to Turnbull. Then if her resolve didn't fail her . . . She smiled to herself. Yeah right . . . that was just another way of saying 'if she didn't chicken out' . . . she'd talk to Fraser. She hesitated briefly with her hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and proceeded full steam ahead.

"Good morning, Constable Turnbull. The Ottawa call should be coming through any minute. Transfer it to me immediately. When I am finished I would like to see you in my office." Her matter of fact tone gave the quaking Turnbull no indication as to her intentions toward him. As she turned to enter her office she smiled slightly. Let the man suffer for a little while, he deserved it!

The call was prompt and all the participants were on the line in a matter of minutes. Meg placed the call on the speaker and listened intently, with very few comments, for the next forty- five minutes. It wasn't fifteen seconds after she hung up that she heard a soft, tentative knock on her door. She smiled at the thought of Turnbull the Terrified, standing in the hall, awaiting his fate - and all because he made a misguided attempt to bring a little happiness to two friends. 

"Come in." 

Turnbull looked like a man about to be led before a firing squad. All that he lacked was the cigarette and blindfold! She had to busy herself with papers on her desk to hide the smile she did not yet want him to see. 

After a few moments of standing at attention in front of her desk he could not stand it anymore. 

"You . . . ah . . . wanted to . . . ah . . . kil . . . s . . . see . . . me . . . Sir?"

"Yes, Constable. These are my notes from the telecon. Please see that they are typed up as soon as possible. Dismissed." Meg was having a little fun at Turnbull's expense, but she was also very curious at to what he would do now.

"Sir?" Turnbull was dumbfounded.

Still studying the papers on her desk, Meg did not look up. "I said 'dismissed' Constable . . . unless you have something to add?"

When he still did not answer or make any attempt to move, she glanced up at him, trying valiantly to hide the mirth in her expression. When she saw the pitiful look on his face, however, her mood changed considerably. She felt slightly guilty and very sorry for leading him on this way . . . even if he did deserve it.

"Turnbull? Is there something else?"

"Ah, yes Sir . . . I . . . there is. I . . . that is . . . I would like to apologize . . . to apologize . . . for my . . . for presuming . . . for placing you and Constable Fraser . . . I never meant to . . . I'm sorry if I . . . it was a very . . . "

For a brief instant Meg saw the old, befuddled, fumbling Turnbull . . . the one she wanted to shake . . . and then hug . . . or was that the other way around? By her count he had started five sentences and finished none of them. But she knew what he meant and was touched by his tongue-tied apology.

"Constable, why don't you stop before you actually trip over your tongue? I accept your apology. What you did was totally out of line and I'll admit I was very angry with you for several days. I have recently come to realize, however, that you may be a lot more intuitive than I ever gave you credit for." She sighed as she smiled at him. "And . . . I . . . I'd like to . . . thank you for . . . for caring about . . . me . . . enough . . . to try . . . " Meg cleared her throat.

"Sir?"

"I'm letting you off the hook, Constable!" She was right when she had thought that even though he was becoming a new man, or as Fraser had said, returning to the man he once was, Turnbull was still, past, present and future . . . totally dense!

"I forgive you Turnbull. Do I need to spell it for you? D-I-S-M-I-S-S-E-D, dismissed."

He was so relieved, and so excited he almost jumped up and down. "Does this mean the you and Constable Fraser might--"

"Constable! Do NOT press your luck." Turnbull was out of the room in a blur of red.

Meg just smiled behind the blur: one down. Now the hard part, but she had not lost her resolve, she would talk to Fraser.

___________________________________________________________

Shortly after their conversation, Constable Turnbull found stacks of paperwork on his desk. He smiled broadly, maybe things were going to work out after all. He was not dead - and even better yet, Inspector Thatcher had forgiven him. He turned to stare down the hall and sighed. He hoped that Constable Fraser would be as forgiving. Maybe soon all would be right with the world.

Turnbull had seen him infrequently during the last week, and when he had seen him, Fraser had seemed his usual self. But looking a little more deeply Turnbull had noticed a slight aloofness in the man, a lack of . . . geniality. The few times that they had spoken Fraser had been all business, refusing to engage in idle conversation. Turnbull initially chalked that up to Fraser's irritation with him. But that did not explain Dief.

Dief continued to be a permanent fixture under the younger Constable's desk. On the rare occasions when Fraser came his way, Dief would whine, attempting to gain his friend's attention, but Fraser continued to disregard him. As Turnbull sat at his desk, after one such encounter, the wolf put his head in the man's lap and snorted sadly. 

"I'm grateful that you forgive me Diefenbaker, but you know as well as I do that Constable Fraser is in pain, and it's my fault." Dief and his human companion sighed in unison. "And no, I don't know what to do about it either." His human companion stroked the wolf's head absentmindedly.  
By now of course, Turnbull knew there was nothing he should, or could do about it. His friends would have to work it out themselves, and he was hopeful because Inspector Thatcher seemed inclined to try. He turned toward Fraser's office again and sighed.

___________________________________________________________

Meg tried to keep as busy as possible for the rest of the day. It was amazing to her how her work just seemed to melt away after she started handing some of it off to Turnbull. That did create a problem however, now she had more time to think.

She could not get the memory of Fraser's eyes out of her mind. In protecting herself she had hurt him deeply. She hadn't meant to, it was just her instinctive need for what she defined as self-protection. Now she had to come up with a way to ask his forgiveness.

She sat at her desk, deep in thought, fiddling with the blue topaz bracelet she had worn today. She frowned at the blue stones as she twirled them around her wrist. Once she had loved this particular piece of jewelry, but now she rarely, if ever, wore it. Staring at the stones she suddenly realized why. The color of the stones exactly matched the color of Fraser's eyes.

She sighed as she went to stare out at the falling snow. The windows and rooflines of nearby residences were shining with Christmas lights, and the soft white flakes drifting down around the reds, greens and blues created a beautifully peaceful picture. She thought that the hour must have become late, as few cars passed on the street outside the Consulate and the neighborhood had become very quiet. Meg felt a peace come over her that she had not felt in a very long time, and she slowly became aware of what she needed to do. Without allowing herself the time to reconsider, she left her office and went in search of Fraser.

Fraser was prepared for a night's sleep, but had been unable to attain his goal. He lay on his cot in his dark office, staring at the ceiling. He had long ago schooled himself in the art of thinking of nothing, but at the moment was unable to remember exactly how to attain that goal either. His mind was full of the memories of his life and therein lay the cause of his sleeplessness.

He sat bolt upright when the soft knock came at his door. "Cons . . . ah . . . Fraser?" He jumped to attention as Margaret entered the room.

"Please . . . Fraser, it's not necessary for you to stand at attention. There's . . . there's something I . . . I wanted . . . you to see. Would you . . . mind coming to my office? Please?"

Fraser alternated between being completely confused and very relieved. Relieved because he wore sweats to bed in the winter. He hesitated briefly and then followed her without a word.

His hesitation allowed Meg the time to arrive at her window before him, and she smiled as he entered her office. The darkened room was illuminated only by the glow from the Christmas lights on the street. "I wanted you to see this. Isn't it beautiful?" She turned back to the window as Fraser came up behind her. 

Meg hesitated for just a moment as she continued to stare out the window. She could feel the tension that emanated from the man standing rigidly behind her. 'Dear God, please let me say the right thing.' She knew that if she blew this she would never get another chance. When her mind failed to produce the words she needed, she spoke from her heart, in the soft voice that her heart, and the scene they were witnessing demanded. "I'm so . . . sorry that I . . . hurt you . . . Ben. It was never my intention to cause you pain . . . especially not you. I know I asked you to forget . . . to forget the train, but I haven't been able . . . have not forgotten our kiss either. How could I? It meant more to me . . . than . . . the whole world." Meg did not turn to face him, but silently prayed he would say something. Ben remained silent.

"It's kind of funny, you know? To have someone as dense as Turnbull know more about how you feel than you do? I . . . I care for you, Ben, I'm just not . . . I just couldn't . . . " Her words trailed off to no more than a whisper. "I didn't want to admit it to myself. Please forgive me."

When he continued to remain silent Meg felt she must say something or die! "I think the city is most beautiful at Christmas time. It must have been very different for you, growing up in the wilderness. I remember all the families in our neighborhood hanging lights in the trees and on their houses. We used to try to out do--"

"Meg? Shut up." Ben spun her around and held her in an embrace that took her breath away. He stared into eyes illuminated by the colorful lights on the street, as he ran his fingers through her silken hair. Hair so soft he felt it might dissolve between his fingers. He searched her eyes for several moments, looking for any sign of hesitation. 

When she smiled tenderly at him he knew. Meg wanted this as much as he did, but more than that, she was willing to set aside her fear and open her heart to him. When he knew that he too could set aside his fear, and the pain she had caused him, he kissed her. A kiss that held all the fire and passion of a man who had at last found his way in from the wilderness - of loneliness. He had found his home and been invited in. A home with brown and gold and hazel kaleidoscope eyes.

Meg sighed against his lips as she felt his passion sweep over her. She felt safe and warm and her fears vanished as he drew her ever closer. She knew in her soul that this is what she had always wanted. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, forgetting the control she had valued so highly, and met his passion with hers. Colored lights still illuminated their world, but for now Meg and Ben knew nothing but each other.

Though he might well never know it, Constable Turnbull would have been very pleased that he had, in no small way, brought his friends together. And though he might never know it, he would also have been tickled pink to know that the Queen's bedroom would be occupied tonight.

Only tomorrow would tell . . . 

The End


End file.
